Tea and Madeleine
by zoe han
Summary: Giles is called to L.A. to lend a hand to Angel Investigations and faces old grudges and the fact that certain things have changed. Spoilers: "Rain of Fire" (Angel) "Never Leave Me" (BtVS)
1. Past Perfect

Title: Tea and Madeleine  
Chapter Title: Past Perfect   
Author: Zoe Han  
Disclaimer: Angel and Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon and Co. lucky devils.  
Spoilers: Rain of Fire / Apocalypse Nowish (Angel), Never Leave Me (BTVS)  
Notes: AU where ConCord exists only in the platonic sense  
About the Title: based on Marcel Proust's connection between memory and a madeleine  
Summary: After the destruction of The Watchers' Council, a phone call from Wesley brings Giles to L.A. to help out A.I.

  
Twenty-two. That last call made twenty-two in the span of a day. Giles muttered a curse as he turned off his cell phone in the midst of a blaring busy signal. The stress of approaching Armageddon was wearing down his patience and the chaotic Los Angeles traffic only made matters worse. The frenzied city was rocked by the panic of its inhabitants who were desperately trying to leave. They had good reason, a rain of fire was more than just a subtle threat of doom.

Giles smacked the steering wheel of his borrowed Nissan in frustration. He was barely inching through the jam of vehicles and assortment of profanities hurled between drivers. There was a kind of religious mania colliding through the air as self-appointed prophets stood on the side of the clogged streets, attributing the sins of humanity to the recent flood of supernatural warnings.

Exasperated, he tossed his cell phone onto the passenger side. He rubbed his eyes and then readjusted his glasses, hoping the gesture would clear both his mind and vision. It couldn't be much farther now. Giles rechecked the address he had scribbled down courtesy of Wesley, gathered his things - overnight bag, cell phone, books, notes - and exited the car. He was resigned to jog the rest of the way.

The car door had barely slammed shut when nearby people clamored for it, desperate for a means of transportation to get out of the city as quickly as possible. Giles could hear the commotion for the vehicle behind him and was silently thankful he had borrowed the car from a retired Watcher in Vegas. Losing this car would be easier on his wallet than a true rental, of course, there would be nothing to worry about if the world were to end.

He managed to get through the masses and was soon in The Hyperion's front courtyard. Although the fire had left the building's facade virtually untouched, the gardens were left charred and in decay. Giles observed the hotel's impressive architecture, clearly of Spanish influence, and imagined it had once seen glamorous days filled with Hollywood starlets and wealthy patrons. It seemed Angel Investigations had been doing all right the past couple years which was why Giles realized the severity of the present situation when he received the phone call from Wesley. It had been over three years since Angel, Cordelia, and Wesley had formed the agency and never once had they asked for help... until now.

Giles entered The Hyperion's lobby where he found Wesley with a young woman pouring over books atop what once must have been the hotel's check-in counter.

"Hello," he called, setting his things on a nearby divan. Wesley and the woman looked up from their work. Giles was taken back by the former Watcher's appearance; the man was in desperate need of a shower and a shave. His clothes were disheveled; Giles guessed he hadn't slept in days. It was a far cry from the polished Wyndham-Pryce in Sunnydale days, but then, so much had changed.

"Giles, I wasn't expecting you until later, if at all. We understood all flights to Los Angeles had been cancelled," his voice was gruff and exuded street-smart savvy as he extended a hand to the guest.

"We were forced to make an emergency landing in Las Vegas. I had to drive the rest of the way," Giles explained, taking Wesley's hand.

"Of course."

Their conversation bore rigid politeness resulting from the undertone of resentment they held against each other, coals left smoldering from their past association in Sunnydale. Giles had never been fond of Wesley's "by the book" attitude and arrogance, obvious remnants from the tremendous amounts of brown-nosing Quentin Travers and the rest of the Watchers' Council. To Wesley, Giles represented what he, himself, should have been: Watcher of what seemed to be an exemplary Slayer. Although circumstances had changed between the two men, they still had yet to shake off indignation.

"I believe I've mentioned Fred to you before," Wesley motioned toward the counter.

She hardly seemed like the Winifred Burkle of either Wesley or Willow's description. He had imagined someone naive, fragile, and despite the glasses, a little more bookish. She forced a half-smile at him then resumed her reading.

So Los Angeles wasn't the hub of friendliness.

Giles slid off his brown corduroy jacket and added it to his pile on the divan, "So what else do we know now?" He rolled up the sleeves of his forest green button-down and joined the duo. The visit to Los Angeles was business one, and present company was only too willing to remind him through the chilly reception.

They introduced him to a charted layout of supernatural events in the city as well as areas where The Beast had made appearances. They passed him a stack of notes where they had sketched translations of various prophesies and additional details on Connor, Cordelia's recent visions, and key moves by Wolfram and Hart.

"Angel and... Gunn," Wesley cast an uneasy sideways glance at Fred which went unnoticed by her, "are searching for The Beast as we speak. They don't pose much of a threat, but we're simply hoping to at least keep it distracted from hurting anyone else. It had the opportunity to kill us before, but it didn't. It's keeping us alive for something."

"And the rest?"

"Lorne is working the demon-based rumor mill," Fred answered, swivelling her chair to another desk behind her, one equipped with a computer. Her agile fingers flitted across the keyboard with dexterity reminiscent of Willow.

"And Connor and Cordelia..." Wesley's voice trailed off, his eyes catching sigh of something at the door. Giles followed his gaze.

He turned to find an attractive woman by The Hyperion's doorway, looking startled. She was dressed in a plum skirt that showed off her well-toned legs and a lilac blouse. Her short dark blond hair was swept just above her eyes. Despite the change in physical appearance, he immediately recognized her by her poise.

"Giles," Cordelia broke the silence bridging between them.

He was still momentarily at a loss for words, overcome by the alteration that had occurred in the span of three years. She could not wait for a reply as she threw her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Cordelia, your hair..." Giles blurted.

Paranoid that the remark was received as an insult, he quickly added, "It's charming." She pulled away and blushed as she tucked a lock behind her ear. He was relieved when she met him with her brilliant Cordelia Chase smile, but it reversed into a stern frown when she saw his things on the divan.

"Don't tell me you're still wearing corduroy," she wrinkled her nose.

He chuckled, despite her tendency to exasperate him during her high school days, he was relieved to see she still retained some of that Queen C edge.

Behind her in a grey cotton sweatshirt was a young man whom Giles assumed to be Connor. Judging by the surly demeanor, he's Angel's chip off the block, not to mention shoulder, thought Giles.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, rubbing his upper arm where Cordelia had surprised him with a sharp blow. "The devil! What was that for?" He wondered if perhaps Wesley had forgot to tell him the seer had gained the ability to read thoughts as part of her premium demonization package.

"Three years and you don't visit us til now!" she folded her arms in an accusing matter.

He smiled, "I thought I'd chose 'Impending Apocalypse' season as the best time to holiday to avoid the scandalous rates of tourism."

"Well, I'm glad you're here," she touched his arm apologetically then added as an afterthought, "Did you bring presents?"

  



	2. Frailty

Title: Tea and Madeline  
Chapter Title: Frailty  
Author: Zoe Han  
Disclaimer: Angel and Buffy the Vampire Slayer are both the property of Joss Whedon and Co.  
Spoilers: Rain of Fire (Angel) / Never Leave ME (BtVS)  
Notes: AU where ConCord exists only in the platonic sense  
Summary: Wesley deals with a distraught Fred and partially reveals why Giles is in L.A, Lorne brings in the L.A. demon perspective concerning The Beast  


  


"It's kind of nice to hear someone happy," Fred commented softly from her computer screen after Cordelia left to show Giles to a vacant room upstairs with Connor trailing behind them. 

Wesley glanced at the upper level where the trio had vanished into one of the corridors then answererd thoughtfully, "Yes, yes it is." 

Happy. It was sucha simple word, a simple emotion, and it brought a sorrowful smile to his lips. _Nice to hear someone happy_, Wesley was just sorry it wasn't Fred. 

She had her back to him, still diligently at work, or at least pretending to be. Their conversations had been strictly research-related, so he was unsure whether her comment had been an invitation to talk or a simple observation. 

However, he was answered with the abrupt silence of clacking keys. 

"He won't even speak to me," her voice broke between a nervous laugh and a sob, hanging her shoulders. 

There was no need for her to explain who "he" was. No, he thought to himself disappointingly, of course she wouldn't have ended things with Gunn so quickly. 

The emotional outpour made Wesley uneasy, but in a way, he was relieved to see her cry. It meant that despite what she had gone through, she hadn't completely resolved herself to bitterness. She wasn't like him,,, and for that, he was grateful. 

"Fred," his hand hesitated just over her shoulder, wanting desperately to comfort her in a hug. He sighed to himself, and instead, knelt beside her chair, swivelling it until they were face to face. Wesley had already half-formed a small cliched "it'll all work out" speech inn his mind, but the words vanished at the sigh of her tearful face. What was he supposed to say? The supportive friend - it was the rold he had once been accustomed to playing, but that was long ago, another lifetime ago it seemed. 

To hell with roles, masks, parts... 

Wesley tenderly lifted Fred's chin and brushed back her hair. His fingers caught her tears and gently wiped them away. It was a gesture that went blatantly outside the threshold of a concerned friend. Fred's apprehensive expression told him she understood, but no protestation arose. 

He smoothed her cheek with his hand, noticing how fair and dlicate her skin was. Her eyes still glistening with tears, she looked almost ethereal as the light played with the soft waves of her hair. Innocence - it was one of the things he had loved about her. Yet, it was virtue the past year was forcing her to outgrow. Wesley wanted nothing more than to guard her from the rest of the world, to go on loving her for all the reason that made her different from... Lilah. 

He leaned in slowly, bordering on euphoria from being so close to her. Fred hesitated for a second before closing her eyes. Wesley felt the warmth of her breath on his lips, causing his heart to race. 

"Well, there's certainly some mean and nasties out tonight," came Lorne's voice. 

Fred quickly pulled away from Wesley and stood from her chair, her face flushing. 

Fortunately, Lorne had been too preoccupied with wiping iridescent slime from his clothing to have noticed the attempted kiss that had occurred between them. Although disappointed, Wesley remained composed, his eyes lingering on Fred, a look intense enough to cause her to turn away again. 

"Times like these bring even the most reclusive demons above ground to see what's going on. Y'know, the kind that thrive for ages underground where there's no deodorant, bikini waxes, Clearasil, and much less, plastic surgeons. We're talking "scuttlebutt-ugly," Lorne shuddered at the memory, "I need a drink." 

He headed for the small collection of mixers and spirits on the counter, his personal makeshift oasis. Normally he was satisfied with a cocktail, but this time, his hands went immediately to the decanter of Scotch and a tumbler. 

Fred drew up next to him and scrutinized the slime on the front of Lorne's shirt, "I didn't know they came in that color." 

"Yeah, and for you autumns out there," Lorne modeled his back, "Burnt umber for that classy sophisticated look that says 'I stood a little too close to a shedding Azbath demon.'" 

He knocked back his drink then shook his head, "I mean, we're talking more vivid colors than a Jean-Pierre Jeunet film." 

"We get the point," Wesley said abruptly, "What did you find out?" 

Lorne narrowed his eyes at him before answering, "Some of them have tried to stop The Beast as well, mostly your Conan-type mercenary demons." 

"Mercenary? Hired by who?" Wesley asked. 

"Our cuddly friends at Wolfram and Hart." 

He should have figured Lilah would try and pull an army together using the company's connection and funds. 

"Any damage done at all?" 

"Oh, plenty," Lorne nodded, "Just that it was all done by that "Legend" reject. In the meantime, a large majority of the resident demons have decided to try and get back to their respective dimensions. Considering a lot of them, like me, came from a Hell dimension, not a good sign of what's to come. If The Beast ends up putting the 'ouch' in 'slouching towards Bethlehem,' Pylea will end up looking like a cruise in the Bahamas." 

"Maybe we should pack," Fred said hopefully. 

"See? My 'hiding under the bed' idea starting to look good. Not much luck here I take it?" Lorne swirled the Scotch in his glass. 

"We haven't come up with anything new," said Wesley, "We'll have to go with the initial plan, there doesn't seem to be any other choice. We haven't spoken to Cordelia about it yet; I'm just hoping she won't have a vision before we're ready to tell her." 

"As dangerous as it is, we've got to let her know it's our best chance," Fred whispered. 

"It's a little more difficult than that. I don't want to tell her she'll have to go through it all over again. It's a delicate situation. She and Giles have seen what he's actually capable of," Wesley explained, "Which is also why I asked Giles to come, to help assess the situation and reinforce both spells." 

"Speaking of, is the cavalry here yet?" asked Lorne. 

"He's upstairs with Cordelia and Connor." 

"He?" Lorne raised an eyebrow, "You mean 'they,' right? Giles and the other Watchers." 

"There are no other Watchers anymore. The Councill was destroyed; Giles is the only one left." 

"I see." 

Lorne downed the rest of his Scotch, poured himself another, and carried it with him up the stairs. 

"Where are you going?" asked Fred. 

Lorne called over his shoulder, "I'll be packing my bags." 

  



	3. Strength

! 

Title: Tea and Madeline  
Chapter Title: Strength  
Author: Zoe Han  
Disclaimer: Angel and Buffy the Vampire Slayer are both the property of Joss Whedon and Co.  
Spoilers: Rain of Fire (Angel) / Never Leave Me (BtVS)  
Notes: AU where Connor and Cordy eye candy fest never take place  
Writing Notes: I know this is another sob scene, but I hope it contrasts Wesley's and Giles' actions  
Summary: After a slight mishap, Giles becomes acquainted with Cordelia's feelings towards Angel while she discovers why The Watcher is in town  


  


t was amazing to think the world could end at any moment, and here, people like her and Giles were concerned over perosonal toiletries. In a way, it was comforting; it afforded Cordelia a sense of security by remaining preoccupied with the little things: the sound of cold running water as Giles splashed it over his face, the harsh halogen glare slivering through the ajar bathroom door. Vanity was a luxury, and the fact that they were still able to savour it was a good sign. 

"How's the gang?" She called out. 

"Pardon?" 

"The gang... Sunnydale..." she began fidgeting with the straps of Giles' overnight bag. 

What she really meant was _Is Buffy still moonie-eyed mopey over Angel?"_

"They're trying to handle things. Doing rather admirably considering the circumstances." 

"Right, First Evil. Still, it must not be too bad considering you're here instead of there." 

The faucet stopped and was replaced with brisk toothbrushing. 

Cordelia opened a drewsser drawer and began unpacking Giles' bag, smoothing out his clothing as she did so. It was rather bizarre unearthing a pair of jeans beneath a couple sweaters. Cordelia arched an eyebrow and smiled, amazed the Watcher had finally discovered denim. 

The bathroom door swung open and Giles reappeared, looking slightly less haggard, toweling off his hands. 

"What the bloody-, Cordelia!" Giles panicked and rushed over to her, reaching for the items in her hand. 

"Hey, I was just helping," she replied, pulling away from him. 

Giles' boxers fluttered to the floor. 

He sighed, "I believe I am very much capable of putting away my own undergarments." 

"It's not like 'Cordelia's never seen man-things before,'" she paused for a moment, reflecting on her words, "that probably came out sounding pretty bad." 

Since he was adamant about folding by himself, Cordelia took a seat on the bed. 

"Where's Connor?" Giles asked, once his things were safely placed in the dresser. 

"I asked him to leave us for awhile; I wanted to talk to you alone," she explained, trying to appear concerned at plucking lint off the bedding. She was duly remembering the annoyed expression on Connor's face when she had made the request. As much as she cared about him, the constant brooding over her was becoming a bit of a nuisance, one of those less enviable genetic Angel traits no doubt. If only the boy had his father's hair... 

"Is there something troubling you?" Giles sat next to her. 

They stared at one another and then broke into a fit of laughter. 

"It rained creepy-crawlies, balls of fire, the spawn of Satan... well, _spawned_ from an L.A. alley, one of my best friends is now ostrichedized or ostracized or whichever one means he's banished from the group, i got kicked out of a higher dimension - i think, and.. I'm in love with Angel." 

Cordelia's face fell. What had begun as laughter ended tearfully on Giles' shoulder. She held fast to him, feeling he was keeping her grounded. He represented Sunnydale, that piece of her life when the only thing she had to worry about was what outfit to wear the next day because there were other people who would do the protecting, people like Giles, Buffy, Willow, Xander... okay, well maybe not Xander. Yet, they had drawn her in, and she loved and hated them for doing it. 

She buried herself against Giles' shirt, surprised to find the light musk of cigars, aftershave, and a hint of a worn and weathered pages. It was most likely scent of a renewed life at The Council. Although he held her awkwardly, trying to decide whether to pat her back or smooth her hair, she felt safe with him. 

When the tears had subsided, she asked, "Does Buffy knkow about Connor?" 

"No, Giles answered gravely, "I thought it best not to mention it. She had it rough last year, and with this..." 

Cordelia nodded, "Perhaps it's best she heard it from Angel anyhow." Her voice had lightly stumbled over his name. 

"Cordelia," Giles began. 

"I'm fine. We just weren't meant to be; I get that. Maybe Buffy and Angel were right. As much as I hate the word, perhaps "champions" aren't meant to belong to one another. I just didn't think I'd have to give him up so soon," she sniffed and wiped delicately at the corner of her eyes with her fingers, careful not to ruin her makeup. She falshed him a reassuring smile. 

Giles' face had softened; he stared at her with admiration, surprised at her strength. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

"It's just..." 

"Listen, don't go telling everyone in Sunnydale that I've gotten all user-friendly now. And while we're at it, if Xander asks, I'm juggling male models, musicians, actors, whatever." 

_The windows shattered from a sudden gust; Cordelia screamed as Angel vaulted into the room in vampire form. He grabbed her from behind, clamping down her wrists behind her, and nuzzling her neck. Angel. No, **Angelus**. _

"Don't I get a hello-kiss?" he whispered in her ear, his fangs trailing against her slender neck. 

"Cordelia!" Giles grabbed her by the shoulders as she continued to screaam. She pummeled her fists against his chest. "Cordelia!" he called again, "It's Giles! You're all right; you're safe!" 

He guided her to the bed. She gasped, remembering the horrifying sensation of vampire fangs against her throat. Her bewildered eyes scanned the room, only to find everything still intact, no sighn of broken glass or... Angelus. It had been a vision warning what was to come. 

Giles rushed to the bathroom and returned with a cup of water. She was sitting on the edge, trying to regain her breath. Giles offered the cup; she looked at him for a moment, puzzled. 

"Giles... what are you doing here?" 

The Watcher became apprehensive of the question, "I told you, Wesley called me." 

"Why? Sunnydale is battling the First Evil and you're vacationing in Los Angeles to fight the Red Bull? Don't give me that 'handling admirably' bit again." 

"I'm here to do an illumination spell on the so-called 'false prophecies' Wesley was given. Sajahn didn't say they were completely untrue, only that he had rewritten some of it. The illumination spell will set things back in order," Giles answered. 

Her hazel eyes widened in terror as she made the connection between vision and reality. He wasn't being completely truthful with her. 

"Giles, I saw Angelus in my vision just now." 

He blinked - it was enough. 

"Oh my God," she got up, knocking the cup from his hand. At the door, with her back to him, she stopped and asked, "Giles, how can you even think of bringing him back?" She opened the door and walked out, convinced that a talk between Wesley and herself was long overdue. 

  



End file.
